


Cufflink

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Series: Leather Jackets and Lab Coats [10]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F, Shovel Talk, a surprisingly low number of puns, it's not official until somebody tells joe, little bitty mention of parkwest in there, wedding fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 18:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6089881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I've faced supervillains," Caitlin tells her, clinging tightly onto her hand. She looks over Iris's shoulder towards Cisco, sees and appreciates the way he bites back some teasing comment, turns her gaze back to Iris's. "I've been kidnapped by them and told them to go to hell, I have stood in front of a panel of experts in my field and defended my thesis, I have admitted to my mother that I think her 'famous beets' are infamously beastly—why, Iris, why on Earth am I so nervous right now?"</p><p>"Well," Iris says, guides her to sit down on the chair in front of the vanity mirror. She picks up the lipstick tube, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement as she points out, "this time, the supervillain you're facing is waiting for you at the end of the aisle."</p><p>(Or, the day of Lisa and Caitlin's wedding, intertwined with earlier scenes from their relationship.)</p><p>(Stands alone.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cufflink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissSugarPlum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSugarPlum/gifts).



> Did you know that Kelsey (AKA MissSugarPlum AKA that-pumpkinspicewhitegirl) is one of the best people you could ever interact with? Did you know that she's getting MARRIED? Did you know that she and I became friends because of this ship right here? I mean, if you did know all of those things, then you know why I had to dedicate this fic to her. If you DIDN'T, well, she's absolutely fantastic and deserves everything good in life ever, and I had a feeling she would appreciate this fic so I dedicated it to her! Now you're all caught up :D
> 
> Happy femslash february, and go me for finally posting something substantial for this year's femslash big bang!

Caitlin paces the room, her heart fluttering in her chest like—like a thousand butterflies trapped within her ribcage, like the furiously beating wings of a hummingbird hovering next to a flower, like Barry's speedster-heart but _also hopped up on caffeine._ She lifts a hand, fans at herself as she sucks in as big of a breath as she can with the tight bodice of her dress—

 

"I've never seen her this bad," Cisco says, conversational, and she catches a glimpse of him as she spins on her heel (dress gathered in her free hand, shoes not on yet) and marches back the other direction. He's slouched as casually as he can without wrinkling his suit (jacket neatly laid over the arm of the chair) and leaning over towards Iris conspiratorially, a twizzler hanging out of the side of his mouth.

 

"Yes, you have," Iris says, as Caitlin pauses to force out the breath she'd unconsciously been holding, counts the flowers in the vase on the windowsill next to her. "Just before their first—"

 

"Oh, yeah, the first date." Cisco snickers. "But does it even really count as the first date when they'd been routinely booty calling each other for months and months beforehand—booty calls that gradually turned into things that were distinctly not-booty-calls, though they refused to admit they were dating?"

 

"It was the first 'Caitlin has broken it to my father that she's dating Golden Glider' date, so yes."

 

"It's not official until someone tells Joe," Cisco agrees.

 

Caitlin turns to them, can feel her eyes doing that doe thing that Cisco hates to have turned on him, but she can't help it. "Why am I so nervous?" she asks (begs, really, bites on her lip and knows Iris will have to fix the lipstick because her own hands are too shaky).

 

"It's a big day," Iris offers, rises gracefully from her chair to grab Caitlin's hand and squeeze it tightly as she smiles that patented, dimple-filled, sky-brightening Iris West smile.

 

"I've faced supervillains," Caitlin tells her, clinging tightly onto her hand. She looks over Iris's shoulder towards Cisco, sees and appreciates the way he bites back some teasing comment, turns her gaze back to Iris's. "I've been kidnapped by them and told them to go to hell, I have stood in front of a panel of experts in my field and defended my thesis, I have admitted to my _mother_ that I think her 'famous beets' are infamously beastly—why, Iris, why on _Earth_ am I so nervous right now?"

 

"Well," Iris says, guides her to sit down on the chair in front of the vanity mirror. She picks up the lipstick tube, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement as she points out, "this time, the supervillain you're facing is waiting for you at the end of the aisle."

 

Caitlin makes a face in vague agreement, forces herself to still long enough for Iris to fix her makeup. "But all I have to do is walk down that aisle and not trip. And remember my vows. And—oh, god, I'm going to fall flat on my face and ruin my dress, and then I'm going to take one look at Lisa and have all of my carefully prepared words fly right out of my head—"

 

"None of that is going to happen," Iris says, so firmly and confidently that Caitlin doesn't know how to argue. (She swallows, thickly, offers a nervous smile, feels the vicious pounding of her heart slow just slightly.)

 

Cisco had gotten to his feet sometime while Caitlin was (vocally) freaking out, and now he moves to stand behind her, squeezes her shoulders comfortingly. "Even if any of that stuff happens, Lisa's not going to care; she just wants to marry you and all of your… you-ness."

 

Caitlin breathes in. "Yeah, that's true," she says. (There's a warm glow in her chest—a single butterfly of excitement to offset the ones of anxiety. (She doesn't know what Lisa's going to be wearing, if they'll both be in dresses or if Lisa's wearing a tux, if she'll be bedecked in gold or go a more traditional route. (She wants to find out.)))

 

"It _is_ true," Cisco agrees, confidently, gives her shoulders one last squeeze. He moves back to his chair, flops down with a noise somewhere in between a grunt and a sigh. Caitlin closes her eyes, breathes in carefully—and Cisco asks, voice full of morbid curiosity, "Have you thought about the fact that one of those supervillains who kidnapped you is about to be your brother-in-law?"

 

Caitlin breathes out sharply, hears Iris smother a snort of laughter. "Don't remind me."

 

***

 

She's so exhausted, after nearly a week straight of working metahuman cases with Barry and developing tech for the CCPD with Cisco and attempting to balance a real life on top of it all, that she almost doesn't glance into her living room on her way to her bedroom—until she sees movement in her periphery. She lets out a shriek, nearly jumping out of her skin as she realizes there's a man sitting on her couch—

 

"I hope you don't mind that I decided to drop by," Leonard Snart drawls in that nasally, snide voice of his, and Caitlin stumbles backward, fumbles for the purse she's just dropped onto the small table next to her front door. She gets out her phone and has nearly dialed Barry's number when Snart's suddenly in front of her and plucking it out of her hand; he tosses it behind him, rolls his eyes as she lets out another shriek. "Chill out, Snow; I just wanna talk."

 

"Cisco's been keeping tabs on you! He knows where your safehouses are, so practically as soon as they notice me missing Barry will have found—"

 

"I said I just want to talk!" Snart snaps, cutting through her chatter, and Caitlin cowers back against the door, purse clutched to her chest. "About your intentions," he adds more gently, sounding subtly apologetic and overtly placating, and doesn't press forward to fill the space she's vacated.

 

Caitlin stares at him, her brow furrowing. He can't possibly mean… "My… intentions?"

 

"Towards my baby sister." Snart shoves his hands into his pockets, tilts his head to the side—his gaze is somewhere over her head, exasperation obvious in his tone as he explains, "I've been away for a while- as I'm sure you know since Mr. Ramon is 'keeping tabs on me'-" the raise of his eyebrow suggests how greatly he doubts that, and Caitlin swallows hard, keeps her chin up defiantly- "and imagine my surprise when I get back to find that Lisa has been getting _friendly_ with one of Team Flash's key players." His gaze snaps back to hers abruptly, and she flinches involuntarily. He sighs.

 

"This isn't going to get violent, Snow," he reiterates, makes a vaguely annoyed face when Caitlin snorts in disbelief. "I may have taken literal shovels to my shovel talks in the past, but you have significantly fewer muscles and are-" he waves a hand, vaguely indicating her person- "less overtly imposing than Lisa's normal type. In short, you seem like an alright kid—but I don't take chances when it comes to my baby sister."

 

"Okay," Caitlin says, a plan taking tentative shape in her mind, and cautiously forces her posture to relax. His gaze follows her hands as she lowers them, particularly the one still tightly clutching her purse, but when she continues talking his attention snaps back to her face. "Okay, so you just want to… I'm sorry, you're here threatening me because of—your sister? I don't understand."

 

Snart's shoulders straighten slightly as he draws himself back up, smiles thinly. "I just wanted to give you a bit of a warning," he says, slides his hands into his pockets. His eyes are slightly narrow, just vaguely threatening. "Lisa may be perfectly capable of ruining your life all on her own, but don't think I won't take _distinct pleasure_ in helping her tear you apart piece by piece if you—"

 

"I'm not seeing Lisa," Caitlin cuts in, lips twisting apologetically as Snart's head tilts just slightly to the side questioningly. "Have you considered the possibility that she told you that because she was trying to rile you up?"

 

"Though I wouldn't put it past her," he says slowly, suspicion narrowing his eyes, "Lisa wasn't the one who—"

 

Caitlin's fingers, carefully searching through her purse behind her back, finally find her taser. She seizes it, lunges forward practically in the same motion—and she has no doubts that Snart could have rebutted the attack, but she and her lack of muscles have caught him by surprise.

 

The taser connects squarely in the center of his chest.

 

She catches his arm when he crumples, and with a grunt and a sharp tug she's just barely able to keep him from crashing into the hall table (though his head still hits the floor rather harder than she would have hoped).

 

Caitlin steps carefully over him, kicking off her shoes as she scrambles to collect her phone off of the floor where he'd tossed it. She cancels out of the half-completed call to Barry, types a different- though depressingly familiar- number instead.

 

"I'm not saying I'm not amenable to a Friday afternoon quickie, dollface, but this _is_ a little outside of our usual pattern," Lisa greets, with sounds like clinking poker chips in the background. (Someone wolf-whistles, too, and Caitlin really hopes that whichever Rogues Lisa's hanging out with don't know that it's her on the other end of the line.)

 

"Your brother," Caitlin begins.

 

There's a crinkle of static, Lisa's breath blown out sharply into the receiver. "What about him?" she asks, guardedly.

 

Caitlin glances over her shoulder, winces slightly at the awkward turn of one of Snart's knees. "Well," she says, "he's currently unconscious on my floor."

 

***

 

Caitlin's not sure what happens between the moment where Iris was fixing her lipstick and the moment where she's standing beyond the doors of the church, waiting as the rest of the processional moves forward one by one. (She thinks that maybe Shawna was the one who ducked into the room to tell them it was time to go, her hair a gorgeous halo. Remembers vague flashes of Cisco and Iris giving her one last short, quick pep talk, kissing her cheeks before taking their places in the processional—both members of her half of the wedding party, though it had been a week of arguments and bribery and coin tosses before Lisa had agreed to give up her own claim on Cisco.)

 

Joe squeezes her elbow, gives her a reassuring smile, and she smiles back, lets his calming presence wash over her. There's a little pang of regret that her own father isn't here for this—but even if Joe isn't her father, he's definitely family. (She was so nervous when she asked him, had constructed a five-point argument and planned a response to any objection he may have had, but Joe cut into her words halfway through point two, pulling her into a tight hug and saying yes with a voice they both pretended wasn't choked up.)

 

"If you trip, I'll trip, too, outta solidarity," he confides, startling a laugh out of her just before the doors swing wide for them.

 

Everyone looks so happy—that's what strikes her first.

 

She can see Barry up at the front of the church, tears already in his eyes, and the brightness of Cisco's and Iris's grins could power a small country for several weeks—even Leonard has a smile on his face, something small and soft and distinctly less smug than what she's used to seeing. He's supposed to be standing a step higher up, right at his sister's elbow, but Lisa must have made him move down so that she would be taller. (Caitlin had suspected that she would, feels some unnamable, sappy emotion flooding through her over how ridiculous her _almost-wife_ is.)

 

She's so scattered, trying to focus on too many things at once- the faces of her friends and family, careful stride lengths to avoid stepping on her dress, Joe's steadying arm hooked through hers- that she ends up being nearly halfway down the aisle before she blinks.

 

Ends up being nearly halfway down the aisle before she actually _sees_ Lisa, sees the sharp, elegant lines of her tuxedo and its little accents of gold, sees the softness around Lisa's eyes and the warmth in her smile—

 

And _now_ she suddenly remembers how to walk without choreographing every move, the butterflies in her chest escaping with one single breath. "She's beautiful," she whispers, to the air more than anything, but Joe hears her and chuckles.

 

"That she is, honey."

 

"Oh my god, I'm getting married." Caitlin bites the inside of her cheek because she can't bite her lip, feels her eyes getting watery as she and Lisa continue to hold eye contact—Lisa winks and wiggles her eyebrows, able to get away with it because every eye is on Caitlin, and Caitlin snorts in a rather undignified manner.

 

She can feel the shaking in Joe's sides, knows he's laughing at her, but he politely keeps it silent.

 

They slow to a halt, and Joe leans in to press a kiss to her cheek. "This is my stop," he teases, squeezing her hand one last time before taking his place and leaving her to ascend the last few steps alone.

 

Lisa's eyes are sparkling as Caitlin settles into place across from her, and as the minister begins speaking she mouths, "Love you," and reaches out to brush her fingertips across Caitlin's knuckles just for a moment.

 

***

 

"No, you don't."

 

"I—what?" Lisa stares at her, brow furrowing. Caitlin wriggles her wrists, Lisa's grip suddenly feeling stifling, and Lisa sits back, lets her scoot up the bed until her back hits the headboard. Lisa brushes her hair out of her face, drops back on her haunches with a frustrated look on her face. "I… don't?"

 

"You don't love me," Caitlin tells her, crosses her arms over chest—outside of the heat of the moment, she feels too exposed under Lisa's piercing grey eyes. "And I'm really rather insulted that you felt the need to say it," she adds, a hint of annoyance (that has absolutely _nothing_ to do with the painful, wistful disappointment taking residence in her gut) sparking through her. "I get what we're doing here, Lisa, you don't have to pretend that we're actually—" she waves a hand between them, jaw tightening. "Involved."

 

Lisa rolls off the side of the bed, begins rifling through the messy pile of clothes.

 

Caitlin frowns. "Lisa?" she asks, cautiously, and receives a face full of button down as Lisa tosses it blindly over her shoulder. She drags it off of her head to find Lisa pulling her own shirt back on.

 

"Whatever conversation this is about to be," Lisa says tersely, "it's not one to have in our underwear." She glances back, gaze flicking to the blouse scrunched in one of Caitlin's hands, and jerks her chin. "Put it on. You want pants, too?"

 

Caitlin licks her lips nervously. "No, this shirt is long; it's designed to be tucked in."

 

Lisa straightens the bottom of her tank top, raises an eyebrow. (Caitlin lets her gaze drop from Lisa's as she slowly draws on the shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons, feeling uncomfortably like Lisa knows, just from looking at her, that Caitlin's heart is tangled in a mess of golden thread.)

 

"Want _me_ to be wearing pants?" Lisa asks, as cuttingly shrewd as ever.

 

"This is ridiculous; Lisa—"

 

"Cufflink, answer the question," Lisa snaps.

 

Caitlin fixes her gaze on the corner of the room, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff. "You're fine."

 

"Okay." Lisa flops backwards onto the bed, her legs dangling off of the side and her piercing gaze fixed on the ceiling. Caitlin lowers her own eyes to Lisa tentatively, emboldened to know that Lisa can't see her expression, and takes in the furrow of Lisa's brow, the tightness in her jaw. One of Lisa's hands reaches out to loosely grip Caitlin's ankle, her thumb sliding in a slow circle over the bone. "Now, you were trying to tell me that I'm not in love with you?"

 

Caitlin lets her head thunk back against the headboard, makes a vague noise of frustration. "You're not," she insists. "You're telling me you are because you think it's what I want to hear, but it's definitely not. There's no need to coddle; I'm not some naive school girl—"

 

"And I'm not some college frat boy!" Lisa spits. She lets go of Caitlin's ankle, head snapping to the side as she fixes Caitlin with a glare. "I said it because I meant it, even if I didn't come over here tonight _intending_ to say it. But if you _don't want to_ _hear it_ ," she snarls, rising into a seated position with one fluid motion, "then I should probably just—"

 

Caitlin lunges, catches Lisa's wrist before she's fully risen to her feet—the tug sends Lisa sprawling back onto the bed. "What do you mean you meant it?" Caitlin demands. "This isn't about emotions; it's never been about emotions! The first time we slept together, _you_ said—"

 

"I know what I said," Lisa mutters, petulant. "But you and your face and your PhD and your fondness for cuddling, you made it impossible to be detached. And then I started staying for the rest of the night, and that turned into breakfast where we actually _talked_ , and then I found myself calling you just to hear your voice or to complain at you, and coming over just to fall asleep in the same bed as you… I meant it, okay." She's gritting her jaw so tight by this point that her next words are ground out between her teeth—"I'm not sorry."

 

Caitlin carefully shifts, slides until she's lying next to Lisa—the mattress's edge presses into the back of her knees, and she shifts her grip on Lisa's wrist to hold her hand instead. She licks her lips again, eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling, and hears the rustle of Lisa's hair on the sheets as she turns to regard Caitlin. "I… want you to mean it," Caitlin says, carefully. "But I didn't have any reason to expect that you did."

 

Lisa is utterly, frighteningly quiet as Caitlin's heart pounds painfully, but she's not trying to leave or to pull her hand out of Caitlin's. And so they lie there for several minutes, listening to the hum of the wiring in the walls and the whisper-rasp of the sheets each time either of them shifts slightly.

 

Finally Lisa sighs, squeezes Caitlin's hand more tightly for just a moment. "Cufflink," she says, sounding as emotionally wrung out as Caitlin feels, "just hit the lights, would you? We'll talk about this again in the morning."

 

***

 

"Lisa Snart," Caitlin begins, takes in a shaky breath; two words and she's already crying. "You are the _strongest_ person I know. Your life hardened you, but you did everything you could to keep yourself from breaking, and when you had to break anyway, you always went back to pick up the pieces. Well, honey, today I promise that I'll always be there to help you—to help keep you together, to help pick up the pieces when that doesn't work, to have your back in every way I can. I…" she clears her throat, offers Lisa a watery smile. "I will be your confidant and your cheerleader, be there by your side even when you infuriate me, love you as the person you are and not as the person I want you to be. Today I choose you as my wife, and I promise to continue choosing you, over and over again, every day for the rest of my life. I love you, Lisa." She slides the ring onto Lisa's finger and holds her hand tight for a long moment, feeling her chin quiver as she considers how much more _right_ it looks than any of the rings she's seen Lisa wear for various jobs.

 

Lisa squeezes Cait's hands back, her own eyes suspiciously shiny, and carefully extracts one hand so she can accept the ring Leonard is patiently holding out. "Caitlin Snow, you are my anchor." Lisa pauses, breathes in. "Your heart is huge, and every time I think that it's impossibly full from all of the people you've accepted into it, you manage to squeeze in a few more. And each time you do, you swear to yourself to be there for them, to support them, and you would work yourself into the ground if that's what it took. Today, I promise to always put you first, because someone has to and it will never be you. I promise never to leave you like so many have before, to trust you with my secrets and to always keep yours safe, and to avoid making at least sixty percent of the puns that come to my mind so that you won't want to perform self-defenestration on a regular basis." A ripple of laughter runs around the room, a smile tugging at Lisa's lips as Caitlin buries a smile behind one hand. "I love you, Caitlin Snow," she then adds, more quietly, more solemn. "And today I choose you to be my wife, a choice that I promise never to regret."

 

Lisa places the ring on Caitlin's finger carefully, ever so carefully—when she looks up, her eyes are soft and vulnerable, and Caitlin's reaching out, tugging her in even as "You may kiss the bride" is leaving the minister's lips.

 

Caitlin's hands frame Lisa's face, Lisa's own find Caitlin's hips—the kiss itself is chaste, too full of emotion for them to do much more than cling to each other. (Not that that stops Cisco, Mick, and Linda from wolf-whistling as everyone else cheers.)

 

***

 

"Lisa and I had a fight. Can I come over to your place for the night? I just—god, Cisco, I cannot be in the apartment right now." Caitlin's already standing on the sidewalk outside of his building; she really hopes that he'll say yes. If he doesn't she could talk to Iris—she'd hate to bother her when she and Linda have only just moved in together, but Barry's still living with Joe.

 

And that's just one can of worms she doesn't think is worth opening.

 

"There's beer in the fridge and Netflix just put up all ten seasons of _Friends_ ," Cisco says, by way of an answer. Bless him.

 

"I brought vodka and pie," Caitlin tells him, hangs up over the sound of his laughter.

 

One of Cisco's neighbors- Jaime, the one with the Great Dane (not _Jamie_ , the one who trades her rice paper wraps for Cisco's tamales)- holds the door for her, glancing down at the vodka with an amused glint in his eye. "If you get drunk and need someone to cuddle with, I just gave Marty a bath."

 

Caitlin laughs, shakes her head. "Thanks, Jaime, but my girlfriend's cats would get jealous if I came back smelling like another quadraped."

 

"You're dating a cat person?" Jaime makes a face as he splits off towards the stairs. "It's like I don't even know you any more, Cait."

 

"From what I hear, you had your own fling with a feline lover, Jaime; you're in no place to judge!" Caitlin calls back, prodding at the call button for the elevator. Cisco lives on the ninth floor; there's no way she's taking the stairs.

 

She settles against the back of the elevator when it arrives, closes her eyes and breathes in—Cisco's apartment building feels like a second home (or third, perhaps, if she counts STAR Labs), the site of a thousand late night brainstorming sessions, of a hundred dinners and game nights.

 

They even dragged Hartley over here, once, before everything went completely down the drain. He made fun of everything the entire night, including Cisco's movie collection, so Cisco used habaneros instead of bell peppers in the sudado de pollo, then warned the rest of them not to eat.

 

(Ronnie's plan to force Hartley and Cisco to get along didn't work, obviously, but curling up on the couch with him and the Chinese they had delivered, watching Cisco and Hartley scream at each other, remains one of her favorite memories.)

 

The elevator creaks to a stop, drops an inch as the door slides open—there's a reason Jaime took the stairs, Caitlin notes with a grimace. Cisco's been trying to talk his landlord into letting him fix the elevator since the last time someone got stuck, but he hasn't yet had luck, even though she asks for his help every few months when it comes to general handiwork around the building.

 

She turns down the hall towards Cisco's door, carefully juggling the vodka and pie tin to free a hand to be able to knock—and for a second, she thinks she hit the button for the wrong floor. There's a woman in the hall, raising a hand to knock on the door that should be Cisco's—

 

Wait.

 

"No!" Caitlin marches over to Lisa, shoves her roughly on the shoulder. "Go cry on Leonard's shoulder!"

 

Lisa's jaw twitches, and her eyes narrow. "Lenny's off on his space ship with Time Dad and Co."

 

Caitlin sets down the vodka and pie, crosses her arms tightly over her chest. "He's my _best friend_ , Lisa!"

 

"But you're not _better friends_ with him than I am, Caitlin!"

 

"I've known him longer!"

 

Lisa throws up her hands. "Why the hell does that matter?!? He's my closest friend, Cufflink—hell, he's my _oldest_ friend!" Caitlin's brow furrows, her head tilting in frustrated confusion, and Lisa makes an annoyed noise, spins on her heel to knock sharply on the door. "Yes, I've only known him a few years. Go ahead and file that away for a time when the vein in your forehead isn't throbbing from my mere presence, but for now take your pie and your vodka and go crash on Iris's couch instead!"

 

"One second!" Cisco shouts, and Caitlin prods Lisa's shoulder again.

 

"He's already expecting me, Lisa," she hisses. "I called him before I came in the building."

 

Lisa's gaze snaps to Caitlin's, her eyes narrowing. "He called _me_ while I was on the stairs."

 

Cisco's door swings wide open, and he smiles brightly at them both as they turn their glares onto him. "Oh, good; you're both here."

 

Caitlin bends down, grabbing her offerings, but Lisa backs away from the door. "If I wanted couples' counseling, I'd have set up an appointment. I'll see you tomor—"

 

"I'm not a shrink," Cisco cuts in, bluntly. "You're two of my best friends, and you're both pissed and looking for somewhere to get drunk and complain about fictional characters' decisions so you don't have to think about your own, which I can provide. I'll sit in the middle of the couch, and you won't even have to look at each other."

 

"I was also looking to complain about her a little," Caitlin informs him, pressing the pie into his hands as she slips past him into the apartment. The vodka, she keeps close by.

 

Lisa looks at Cisco for a moment before sighing, following Caitlin in. "Ditto," she intones, and heads straight for his fridge.

 

Cisco closes the door, rolling his eyes. "If you start fighting, I'm kicking out whichever of you instigated it."

 

"Fine by me; Cufflink's the one who likes to snipe about little things when she's mad," Lisa says, probably one hundred percent aware of the irony in the statement, and Caitlin simply huffs—she could retaliate and see if Cisco would really throw Lisa out, but more than likely he'd just get mad at them both.

 

Four hours later, and Lisa and Cisco are spooning and using Caitlin's lap as a pillow, Lisa fast asleep and Cisco sleepily quoting lines along with the show. Caitlin rests her head on the back of the couch, eyes closed, and runs her fingers first over Cisco's scalp and then over Lisa's.

 

On screen, Chandler is handcuffed in Rachel's boss's office.

 

"Hey, Cait?" Cisco asks, voice muffled on her thigh.

 

"Yeah, Cisco?" she murmurs back. She doesn't open her eyes.

 

"Why does Lisa call you Cufflink? I've been…" he yawns, question trailing off, and Caitlin runs her fingers through his hair with a sigh.

 

"Wondering?" Caitlin suggests in a murmur, and he nods. "Because she thinks she's clever."

 

Lisa makes a disgruntled noise—she must have heard their voices and swum back into vague consciousness. "I _am_ clever," she informs Cisco, wrapping her arm more tightly about him. "She holds your team together, and her decorative value is secondary but much appreciated."

 

Cisco snickers, and Caitlin squeezes Lisa's shoulder. "Sorry I yelled at you for putting my sweater in the dryer," she murmurs.

 

"Sorry I was thinking about robbing your bank in retaliation," Lisa mumbles back.

 

***

 

Lisa hooks her chin over Caitlin's shoulder and drapes an arm over the back of her chair, scooting in as close as she can get. Caitlin glances away from Barry to press a quick kiss to Lisa's cheek—Barry coos.

 

"I'm so happy for you," he tells them, abandoning his and Cait's discussion of Joe's dance moves in favor of looking misty eyed all over again.

 

"Thanks, Fleet Feet," Lisa responds (and winks, undoubtedly, though Caitlin can't actually see her expression). Her other hand finds the hem of Caitlin's dress, toying with it teasingly, and Caitlin flicks at the hand lightly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

 

"Have you decided what you're going to do about your last names?" he asks, curiously. (It's been a subject of some debate—Caitlin refuses to give hers up completely, as she's been published multiple times and would lose recognition in her field, but Lisa thinks hyphenating looks ridiculous (especially since both of their last names begin with "Sn-") and that taking the last name "Snow" is just _asking_ for the Rogues to never call her anything but "Sister Cold" ever again.)

 

Lisa's hand slips under the edge of her dress, uncaring of the way Caitlin pinches her wrist in warning, and Lisa presses a smirk into the side of her neck.

 

"We're each keeping ours, and any kids that happen, if any kids happen, will just get 'Snow'; Leonard can have kids if he doesn't want the family name to die off," Caitlin tells Barry, trying to ignore Lisa. But her wife (her _wife_ ) lifts her lips to Caitlin's ear.

 

"When did you decide to wear a gold dress for the reception?" she whispers. There's glee evident in her tone.

 

"Can't blame you for not wanting 'Snart' as your last name," Barry tells Caitlin, snickering slightly.

 

Lisa huffs, dragging her attention away from Caitlin to retort, "Back off, _Bartholomew_."

 

"Play nice, children," Caitlin intones, and takes Lisa's distraction as an opportunity to drag her hand off of her thigh. (Lisa huffs again and leans back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest.)

 

"Yes, Cait," Barry answers, laughing—Lisa's lucky she tried to pull this stunt while Caitlin was talking to Barry, rather than pretty much _anyone else_. He's extraordinarily oblivious; probably thinks Lisa's being petulant because Caitlin told her to behave.

 

"Yes, Cait," Lisa echoes sarcastically, eyebrow rising challengingly as she narrows her eyes at Barry.

 

"It's like telling her to behave is a guarantee for her not to," Caitlin says with a sigh and rises to her feet, holding out a hand for Lisa to take. She does so without hesitation, draws Caitlin in close even as she moves to her feet, beaming down at her. Caitlin smiles back, squeezes Lisa's hand tightly. "Dance with me," she insists—Lisa dips her on the spot, laughing, and Barry sighs dreamily.

 

"Have fun," he tells them, laughing at Caitlin's awkward hopping as she tries to shed her shoes in spite of Lisa's insistent tugging.

 

The current song is one of Lisa's favorites, fast and bright and catchy—she obviously doesn't want to miss it, but, "I can barely dance in flats, Lisa; you have to let me take off my heels!"

 

Lisa huffs in annoyance but obligingly stands still as Caitlin finishes undoing the straps and sets the shoes down carefully—they were expensive, she's not going to toss them around willy nilly. "Alright, let's go!" Lisa shouts, scooping Cait into the air- she shrieks in surprise, throws back her head with laughter- and dancing her way to the floor, one arm at Caitlin's back and the other under her knees.

 

(Cisco snaps a picture when Caitlin leans over to snag a glass of champagne off of one of the waiters' trays as it passes.)

 

Lisa spins as she lets Caitlin down, beaming exaggeratedly, and Caitlin presses up to her toes to kiss her. They missed the last half of that pop song anyway, but Lisa doesn't seem to mind all that much as she pulls Caitlin close for the slower, jazzy song that's playing. Caitlin rests her head on Lisa's chest, smiling softly, and they sway along, just slightly off-beat.

 

"When _did_ you decide on gold?" Lisa finally asks, smoothing a hand over Caitlin's ribs. "The last I heard you were planning on white, just like your actual dress."

 

Caitlin presses her lips together, but the corners of her eyes still crinkle with the force of the smile she's not letting escape. "I asked Shawna to tell you that," she confides. "I wanted this to be a surprise."

 

"Good surprise," Lisa tells her, a curl of possessive heat in her voice, and Caitlin kisses her once more, her arms dropping from around Lisa's neck so her hands can find Lisa's hips instead. They break apart, and Lisa's voice is even rougher than before when she whispers, "I'm pretty sure it's expected that every married couple christens the broom closet of the reception hall before they ever reach their bed."

 

"Maybe after this song," Caitlin whispers back, smirking up at Lisa.

 

Lisa opens her mouth to respond, but her attention is caught, instead, by something going on at the edge of the dance floor. Her brow furrows, and she glances down at Caitlin and then back to the other side of the room. "My brother is arguing with the DJ," she says, somewhat dumbfounded.

 

Caitlin moves to look over her shoulder as well and sees Len, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, speaking in low, terse tones with the man behind the table. She turns back to Lisa, a self-satisfied smile spreading across her face.

 

"I may have forbidden him from accepting requests for any songs with 'ice', 'cold', or 'snow' in the title," Caitlin says, nonchalant, and an incredulous, _gleeful_ smile spreads across Lisa's face.

 

She drops her nose into Caitlin's hair, sighing dreamily as she watches Len grow increasingly frustrated. "God, I love you, Caitlin Snow," she says, tone reverent.

 

Caitlin hums softly, runs her thumbs over the bones of Lisa's hips through the thick material of her shirt. "I love you, too, Lisa Snart."

 


End file.
